Stag and Doe
by GrammarQueen
Summary: "I haven't fallen yet. I've merely lost my balance" -The story of Evans and Potter, all the way from enemy to frienemy to oh-my-god-I-love-you Written in vignettes with a song for each chapter
1. Breakaway

The rain came and went, intermittent and uncertain as spring slowly emerged from beneath the snowy blanket of winter. Spring had gradually descended upon the small town, as it always did, peeking out with small fingers of color through the sharp, sparkling white. The flowers that had bloomed during the small bout of sunshine from the previous week were quietly enduring the water as it soaked the earth holding them steadfast, waiting patiently for the warmth of sun to return.

From high above, sitting in the window seat of her bedroom window, twelve-year-old Lily sat gazing at them with unseeing eyes, lost in a daydream inspired by the book clutched in her small, delicate hands. As she leaned against the half-closed curtains behind which the rain pattered softly, she pictured herself in Jane Eyre's place, yelling not at that awful Mrs. Reed but at her sister, Petunia, for her perpetual insults ever since Lily had gone to Hogwarts.

A solitary bird soared low through the rain across her line of vision, pulling her out of her reverie; she reached for the now lukewarm cocoa beside her and took a sip as she closed her book on her green beaded bookmark. She peered through the narrow strips of wood dividing the panes of the window to the steep landscape beyond, and as she imagined Hogwarts perched on the still snowcapped mountain in the distance, she absentmindedly removed her bookmark from _Jane Eyre_ and began to braid it into her long red locks.

It—the bookmark—had been a gift from a boy at her school named James Potter, who had said the color reminded him of her eyes (which were also green, of course). James Potter, Lily recalled with a decisive frown, was _aggravating_. He seemed to have decided, a few months previously, that she was pretty, and henceforth devoted himself to following her around like a lost puppy and attempting to impress her with jinxes that he and his cronies preformed on her best friend. James had an air about him that simply teemed with a self-importance that proved impossible to dispel, which, topped with his endless lies about her beauty, aggravated Lily to such ends that she could hardly tolerate his presence for more than five minutes anymore.

She should have been, therefore, very glad for the Easter Holidays, during which time she could escape James' presence and spend as much time with her best friend, Severus Snape, as she so desired. Today, however, the rain confined the two of them to the interiors of their respective houses, where neither of them felt a particular desire to be—Severus because his parents were always arguing, and Lily because Petunia had become so hateful. Her sister's piercing insults had been what kept her shut up in her room for the past several days with the company of only the back garden's flowers; wherever she went, Petunia's cold glare followed her, and the chill of her own room was the only place she could find solace in solitude.

Lily sat in silence, sipping her cocoa absentmindedly. She had thought she had known what was coming, before, but her nine-year-old plan for life had been idiotic anyway. Before the magical world had been opened up to her, she'd wanted to attend University overseas and become a "Flower-Lady", where she could display her bouquets with one of her favorite newfound magic tricks. Of course, back then she hadn't known it was magic, but at least she'd had a plan for herself. Now, well, everything had changed: her sister didn't even like her anymore! After all this, would she end up happy? Lily didn't know. All she knew was that this place, the place she'd once called home, now lacked the sense of belonging it once held. In that moment, she wanted to break away from it and never return. Maybe that was the reason, besides all this confining rain, that she wasn't grateful for the Easter Holidays.

Her mother's voice drifted up to her from the stairway beyond her door, probably to call her for a lunch they knew perfectly well she wouldn't attend. She set down her book and mug on the table beside the window seat, stood up, stretched, and strode over to her bed to flop noisily down on the white sheets in boredom. The untied tail of her loose red braid flayed out behind her head like a forest fire streaked with one, still resiliently green blade of grass. Soon, she heard two sets of footsteps ascending the stairs just outside her door—footsteps that sounded, by the volume of the creaking, like they belonged to two adults. One of the people was clearly her mother, and the other was probably one of her frequent guests come to greet Lily out of pure politeness. She merely squinted at the slanted ceiling without interest.

There came a knock, and then Lily heard the sweet warmth of her mother's voice say, "Lily, dear? There's someone here to see you."

There always was. Her mother, though married, had become a frequent host to whoever had the grace to accompany her in her loneliness. Mr. Evans had been gone for a year on one of his fishing trips again, and the family had grown accustomed to his brief, infrequent visits home. Lily wondered who it was this time.

"Hi, Mom," said Lily, not looking toward the door as they entered. "Hi, mom's friend."

A new voice came now, deep and rough like the sea it so frequently battled. "Lily, it's me. It's Papa."

"Wha—Papa?!" she tumbled from her bed and, tripping over her sheets, ran to him as though he were a magnet. She threw her arms around him, not caring that he was soaked form the rain and possibly the sea (he was still wearing his sailing gear), and not caring that her shrieks of "Papa, Papa!" had deafening potential. He wrapped his arms around her, strong and firm, and held her there, chuckling his musical laugh, as she buried her face in his chest and breathed in the lasting imprint the sea had etched into his being. He tasted like salt, she thought, or that may have been the tears slipping silently from the corners of her joyful eyes.

As her mother put her arms around the two of them, beaming, Lily thought she might forget her sister's torments, James Potter's arrogance, her confinement—everything. She could have forgotten the world.


	2. I'm Yours

The Gryffindor common room was, for once, almost devoid of students. In fact, if someone were to take a look inside, their view of the sunny sky outside through the high windows and the empty grate in the hearth would not be obstructed by a mass of students today, and not even one of the comfy chairs were occupied; it would seem obvious to any viewer that the place was deserted. This was because the upper students were permitted to go to Hogsmeade that weekend, and the gorgeous weather had left no one with the desire to remain indoors.

Only four unique individuals remained in Gryffindor tower that day, locked up in their room surrounded by countless, antique-looking spellbooks and writing supplies—someone might have even confused the scene with one of studying if they did not know the people within the room. Incidentally, they were probably the least likely people in the world to be caught up in schoolwork on a beautiful Saturday when they could be in Hogsmeade. These four fourth-year boys were the troublemakers of their school, and their very fitting name that they had been using for the past three (plus a few days) years was _The Marauders_.

In fact, they had devoted this time to their books for the mere reason that they were highly unlikely to be interrupted. Their desire for the presence of solely each other stemmed from the subject to which the books pertained: Animagi. They were researching the way in which a person could transform into an animal at will, but they didn't plan on registering with the Ministry of Magic, which made their actions illegal. Sure, they had broken their fair share of school rules, but as those who broke the law suffered much greater consequences, they were prepared to skip Hogsmeade if it diminished their chances of being caught.

"I wonder if the girls will bring anything back for us this time," said a dark haired, handsome boy as he flipped his long hair out of his eyes, peering at the small text on the book nearest him. "I'm running low on Chocolate Frogs."

"I wish they would, too. I really want one of those Frisbee thingies, you know." This time it was the boy beside the first. He, too, had dark hair, but it was untamed and he wore square, wire-rimmed glasses.

"You mean Fanged Frisbees? Yeah, but they've had those forever. I'd rather have some of their newer products, like those little gold trophy-people who'll dance and sing for you on their pedestals. Maybe if we send the girls a quick letter…?" said another boy from behind his book as he flipped the page. He was rather plumper than the rest, and though it was difficult to determine from his sitting position, rather shorter.

The boy with glasses shot him a look that clearly said _you're kidding, right?_ "Peter. Let's be honest with ourselves. They wouldn't bring us Zonko's products in a million—"

"Well they might not bring_ you _anything, James, but they might if _I_ asked them, you know." This came from the last boy, Remus Lupin, who sat leaning against the leg of his four-poster bed. He had a kind face, but he seemed older than fourteen, as though he had aged quite a lot in a his short lifetime. He tucked a thin piece of light brown hair behind his ear, grinning at James.

James scowled. "Deep down, she loves me and you all know it." They all seemed to know who 'she' was; she was clearly the topic of their conversation quite often.

"Deep, deep, _deep_ down."

"No, I think you'd have to add a few more 'deeps.' And even then, she might only vaguely tolerate you." Sirius Black (the first boy) added, abandoning his books to fetch Remus some parchment.

"Hey! I'll marry her someday, you all watch!" said James.

"Yeah, good luck with that," said Peter with skepticism as Sirius handed over his parchment for the letter.

Remus began to write for a second, and then said, "To whom? Lexi Siegel? Not Evans, James; that would be pointless. Alana Chandler?"

"Chandler."

Remus nodded and continued writing as a peaceful silence fell among the four friends.

James sat on the floor by his bed, staring at the fading paint of the enormous _M_ that they'd painted in their first year when the "Marauders" had been agreed upon for their title. He smiled, picking up a piece of chipped green paint and twirling the memory between his fingers.

His mind drifted to Lily Evans, as it always did. Her hair, her eyes, her freckles—her _everything_—was beautiful in a way no one else could dream of being. He resolved for what seemed like the fiftieth time to not make an idiot of himself next time she showed up, and to prove to her that he could be a nice person. There was no need to hesitate—she needed to see the good side of him, for once. Didn't she know what her presence did to him? His heart belonged to her.

James watched as Remus' honey colored owl, Charlie, soared through the open window to the beautiful day outside, a letter tied to his leg as he descended. The open, cloudless sky stretched endlessly before him, bejeweled solely with the sun's shining light.


End file.
